


Our Gang Now

by BoundLight



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Wings, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 16:54:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20411131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoundLight/pseuds/BoundLight
Summary: Heaven isn't really sure why the hellfire didn't kill Aziraphale, but they aren't about to let a renegade angel remain free. Crowley is furious, and enlists the help of a close group of humans to get him back.





	Our Gang Now

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything in about five years, so please be gentle with me! :)
> 
> I had some minor inspiration from Supernatural for a few items in this story, but this is in no way a crossover.

Aziraphale sighed in pleasure as he rearranged his new books. He was thinking of a new sorting order that would make it even harder for anyone unfamiliar with enochian to find anything. A slightly devious smile crossed his face at the thought. He knew it wasn't exactly _nice, _but he couldn't help it. He wasn't about to let some human take one of his precious books. He began to hum, and quickly lost track of time, as was usual when among his books, simply finding joy in cataloging.

His hand stilled as the bell over the entrance chimed. He smiled, turning to the door. He hadn't bothered unlocking it today, but Crowley wouldn't let something as simple as a lock stop him from entering.

“Dearest, come and see –” Aziraphale stopped.

Four Angels Aziraphale hadn't seen since before Eden stood just inside his doorway, and not particularly nice ones to his recollection.

“Briathos, Iaoth, Karael, Eae... how pleasant to see you all.” Aziraphale kept his face carefully neutral.

Without a word the Angels fanned out, hunting through his shop like obnoxious _customers_. Aziraphale cringed at their terrible handling of his wares, roughly rustling pages, and tossing books aside when finished with them.

“I'd _just_ organized that section,” Aziraphale grumbled quietly.

Karael made eye contact from across the shop, and deliberately pushed over a bookcase.

“Oh, that looked disrespectful.” Another Angel had entered the shop while he was distracted. “But then again, our brothers here were never much for a gentle touch. Hello, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale turned. “Ansiel. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Ansiel smiled. “I think you know.”

He gestured to the other Angels in the room, and from all sides came the crash of priceless literature hitting the floor, wood breaking, and barely contained laughter. As his brothers moved further into the store the sound of ripped fabric joined the cacophony. Aziraphale kept his face neutral, his eyes never leaving Ansiel's face. His other brothers he could understand. Briathos, Iaoth, Karael, and Eae were all created with the sole purpose of being warriors, and when the great battle before the fall took place, they distinguished themselves on the battlefield. They were rough, violent, and a bit vulgar. That was who they were, and he couldn't hold it against them. Ansiel was different altogether. Cruel for the sake of being cruel, delighting in suffering.. it was a wonder he hadn't been one of the fallen. Perhaps the opposite of his dear demon, Ansiel had hung around the right people. The Angels currently destroying his home were looking for something, and having a bit of fun in their time on Earth. God knew how dull Heaven was. Ansiel on the other hand would find his fun through someone's suffering, and today that was going to be Aziraphale. He knew if Ansiel had any idea how dear his books were, the shop would be in flames within minutes.

“There's nothing here,” Eae called from the backroom.

“There are some stairs though,” Briathos noted.

“Well, check upstairs then. Be extra thorough. None know how the mind of a heretic work.” Ansiel responded with a smirk. “I hope none of this was important of course, but you can't be allowed to remain armed.”

“Armed?” Aziraphale asked.

“You were issued a flaming sword if our records are correct. And naturally they are. Traitors cannot be allowed to have access to such weaponry. Which I suppose brings me to my main point. Former Principality Aziraphale, failed guardian of the Eastern gate of Eden, you are hereby recalled to Heaven for reeducation.”

“I see. I'm afraid I'll have to decline.” Aziraphale said.

To his surprise, Ansiel's smile widened. “Wonderful.” He whistled and his brothers returned to the room.

A blow to the back of his head sent Aziraphale sprawling to the ground, his head spinning. Having a corporation came with the risk of being able to take damage, but it was still very hard to cause him injury. Of course, the problem with ethereal enemies was they knew exactly how hard to hit. A hand fisted in his hair, dragging him up to his knees. He noted vaguely the hand belonged to a very happy Karael. He was hit again, this time from the side, hair ripping as he was jerked out of Karael's grasp. A foot came up from beside him and kicked him in the face. Aziraphale tasted blood. He quickly lost track of where the blows were coming from, or who was delivering them. All he knew was every explosion of pain when a fist or foot landed, the scuff of his hands, elbows, and knees as he tried to right himself, and the steadily growing laughter from the Heavenly representatives attacking him.

It seemed like an eternity when Ansiel whistled again. His wrists were grabbed and his arms roughly tugged behind him as he was bound by the deceptive white rope, draining him of all his power.

“That was depressingly easy,” Briathos complained. “He didn't even fight back. You said he'd fight back.”

“Not just a traitor, but a coward then,” Iaoth said. “We should just kill him and be done with it. He gives all Angels a bad name.”

Karael laughed. “That's what happens when you idolize humans. You can't even call _this_ an Angel any more.”

“Maybe,” Eae said. “But I would have thought fucking a Demon would make him a bit quicker on his toes at least.”

_Crowley_, Aziraphale thought. His dearest was not going to be happy about this. “You are making a rather large mistake here,” he ground out.

A rough hand grabbed his collar and dragged him back up onto his knees. Aziraphale frowned at the blood stains that now ruined a centuries old rug. A glance down showed his treasured ensemble equally ruined. Ansiel grabbed his jaw roughly. “_We_ are the Heavenly host, sent here on direct orders of the Archangels, the glorious leaders of Heaven. _You_ are the one who made a mistake, siding with your filthy Demon boyfriend, and that abomination, the Great Adversary. If it were up to any in this room, our mission today would be to end your worthless existence,” he smirked, “but Michael has something else planned for you.”

More laughter surrounded him as the Angels gathered close around him. With a flap of their wings, they were gone.

\-------

Crowley was incredibly pleased with himself. In his hands was a bight blue box containing a delectable pastry straight from Brittany. Through several minor miracles it was still fresh and pipping hot. He couldn't wait for Aziraphale to see, smell, touch, taste... he wanted to revel in all of the little expressions that danced across Aziraphale's expressive face. Watching his eyes close in pleasure was worth any trouble.

He'd known he was in love with the angel since the sixth century, though it had taken a bit longer for his angel to catch on. He knew the angel loved him back, all of their interactions proved that to him, but it was difficult to convince Aziraphale of his sincerity when temptation was his stock and trade, especially in their early days before the Arrangement. He and Aziraphale had been doing a very intimate dance their entire existence, the angel always close, but just a little too far away. The almost apocalypse had actually done him a huge favor, and finally forced Aziraphale to confront how he felt about a certain demon. He was certain he and the angel were on the same page now. With luck he wouldn't have to wait much longer.

Crowley stepped around the corner and stopped.

The to the door to the bookshop was ajar.

His beloved angel was many things, but a good shopkeeper was not one of them. Aziraphale loved his books, and his shop was just a place to keep them all. _Customers_ were the last thing he wanted. He went through great lengths to avoid them, and erratic opening hours were his favorite weapon. There was no way his shop would be open on this beautiful morning, let alone have the door standing open.

In Crowley's mind he saw the bookshop on fire.

The pastry fell from his hands as Crowley darted forward, shoving the door open so hard it bounced off the wall. The chaos inside pulled the demon up short.

All the books had been knocked off their shelves, and lay in haphazard piles on the ground. They'd clearly hit the floor with some force, as many of the older books had pages torn out. A few of the bookcases had been overturned, shelves had been knocked out and broken to splinters.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley called. He edged into the store, stepping around a few piles of books.

Had his angel been robbed? No, his angel was kind, but not _that_ kind. There was no way he'd tolerate this abuse of his treasured books. And in any case, none seemed to be missing – or rather, so many remained the he was unable to tell otherwise.

“Angel? I'd appreciate an answer!” He couldn't help the touch of panic in his tone.

He picked his way through the shop, doing his best not to tread on any books, scrolls, or parchment. When he reached the entrance to the backroom he froze. There was a small area devoid of any detritus, in the center a still drying mess of blood.

“Angel!” Crowley leapt over the rug and ran into the backroom. More ruin. Slashed open furniture, broken bottles. He ran up stairs. “Angel?” Broken dishes, more thrown books. Every cupboard open and emptied. “Angel!” he was bordering on hysterical now, a bleeding Aziraphale forefront in his mind.

Could it have been humans? No, of course not. There was no way any human could have done this. Hell? Of course not, they'd come for him first. Heaven then. The bastards! How dare they touch his angel! Well, if they thought they he'd let Aziraphale go without a fight, they were sorely mistaken. He ground his teeth, feeling the scream building as his rage grew faster than it ever had before. His hands clenched, nails cutting into his palms. They would pay.

He paced in a tight circle, his thoughts racing. The last time he thought he'd lost his angel he'd climbed into a bottle in despair. He couldn't do that this time! There was time to save Aziraphale, there had to be! But what to do... He could storm Heaven alone. All he'd need was Hellfire, and as a demon he had easy access to that. But taking on the Heavenly Host by himself was suicide. He'd be able to take on one, maybe two Angels... but then he'd die, and Aziraphale would be lost. If watching human's had taught him anything, he needed back up. He absolutely could not go to Hell for help. Even if any of them were willing to face certain death to assist him, there was no way he'd trust any of them by his side. That just left humans then. And hadn't he been paying a certain army of humans for centuries? He wasn't certain the Witchfinder Army could handle it, but they were a start.

In the meantime, he needed someone to bounce ideas off of in Aziraphale's absence, and as luck would have it, the smartest human he knew alive now lived just a little way into the country.

He was out of the bookshop in a flash, locking the door with a flourish.

\-------

Aziraphale was alone. His wrists were tied to the arms of a small metal chair in the middle of a large, mostly empty room. The only other piece of furniture was a desk to his left. Large, wooden, potentially some paper stacked on top, and a typical leather padded chair behind. Overall, nothing special.

He had been alone for several hours. The brutes who'd dragged him there had vanished the moment he'd been secured, and since then he'd been completely ignored.

He knew through Crowley that some humans liked to play mind games on other humans to assert dominance, and that making one wait was a form of this. He'd been idly wondering if that was what was happening here, but had decided it was unlikely. Angels cared little for humans, and he doubted they'd ever borrow something from them. It was far more likely that he was his former brethren's lowest priority, and now that he was captured, they had better things to do.

He closed his eyes, and thought of his demon. He wondered if Crowley had discovered his absence yet. He hoped his dearest didn't do anything too reckless in response.

\-------

Crowley was currently doing 130 mph on his way to Lower Tadfield. He pulled out his cell without looking and dialed, effortlessly zipping in and out of traffic. He waited impatiently for the line to pick up. Then finally, it clicked.

“Aye?”

“Shadwell, it's Crowley.”   
  


“Oh, aye? An' what can I do fer you? Not starting the Apocalypse again, are ye?”

“I might be,” Crowley said.

“An' you need help with that, do ye?” From the background Crowley could hear Madam Tracy. _“Oh, is that Mr. Crowley? Say Hello to Aziraphale for me!”_ Shadwell grumbled something back.

“Look,” Crowley said, “I need an army fast. I'm going to need you to get all the Witchfinders you can and meet me at Anathema's cottage in two hours.”

There was silence on the other end. Crowley checked his phone to see if the line had disconnected.

“Hello?”

“... All the Witchfinders, ye say? Well, that could be a bit tricky. Spread a bit thin at the moment, as it were, so much to do, so little time, an' all that.”

“Three hours then! I'll pay double – triple the normal wage! Whatever it takes! Just get to Tadfield fast!” He hung up before Shadwell could argue the point any further. On the other end Shadwell gave his phone a horrified look, carefully put it down, and pretended he never received the call.

It was late in the afternoon by the time Crowley reached the cottage of Anathema and Newt Pulsifer. He parked haphazardly, more on the grass than on the road. He was out of the car in a flash, pounding on the door.

“Wha -” Newt barely had time to begin before Crowley shoved past him and into the cottage. “Crowley?”

Inside Anathema was sitting at the table reading. Crowley nodded to her. “Good, you're both here. Saves time. I'm gathering the Witchfinders, they'll be here soon, and Miss, I could use a fine witch. We're going to war with Heaven.”

He expected a reaction from the humans, but they just looked at him blankly.

“Wait -” said Newt.

“Hold on -” said Anathema.

“Yes!” said Crowley. “Storming Heaven. Big battle. All that jazz. Are you in?”

He hissed at their continued confusion.

Anathema stood and approached him as one might a wild animal, which he felt a bit like. “Let's start at the beginning,” she said, taking his arm and guiding him to a chair. “Where's Aziraphale?”

At the mention of his angel's name, Crowley collapsed in the chair, and his head thunked onto the table. The tight ball of anger that had been motivating him to this point was dangerously close to morphing into sorrow. He clenched his eyes shut, arms over his head as he tried to reign it back. Now was not the time to get blind drunk, he had to _think_.

“Not a good sign,” Newt said, edging around the table to the stove and putting the kettle on.

Anathema gave him a look and put a hand on Crowley's arm. “Did something happen to Aziraphale?”

“Maybe they had a fight?” Newt ventured.

“Of course they didn't have a fight,” she scolded.

Newt shrugged. “They could have done. I mean, he's not here, is he?”

“They didn't have a fight,” Anathema said firmly. She hesitated “... Right?”

Crowley breathed out and sat up. He smoothed his hands across the table. “It's ok, the Witchfinders are coming, we'll get him back. He'll be fine.”

Newt froze in the act of pouring the tea.

“Get him back?” Anathema asked.

“Heaven took Aziraphale,” Crowley said, his eyes shut behind his glasses. He could still see the blood in the bookshop.

“And that's... bad?” Newt ventured. He finished pouring and passed around the tea. Crowley gripped his cup so tightly it required a minor miracle to keep from shattering.

“Very bad. But with an army... maybe we can get him back.”

Newt cringed. Anathema kicked his foot. “So,” he said, “there may not be a Witchfinder army.”

“Yes, there is,” Crowley said. He glared suspiciously across the table. “I've been paying them for hundreds of years!”

Newt cleared his throat. “Well... there are _two_ Witchfinders I suppose, but we're both pretty rubbish. And actually, I think officially we've both retired at this point.”

“What do you mean, _two_?” Crowley growled. The cup in his hands creaked ominously.   
  


The door to the cottage flew open. Adam stood in the doorway, Dog panting happily beside him. He smiled at them and turned to look over his shoulder. “They are here!”

Anathema chuckled as the Them piled into the small kitchen.

“We saw the Bentley outside,” Brian explained with a small smile.

“Wait,” pouted Pepper, “where's Aziraphale?”

“Yeah,” Wensleydale said, “You can't just come without Aziraphale, that's hardly fair.”

“Aziraphale... is in trouble,” Crowley said, as calmly as possible. “Otherwise I'm sure he'd love to be here.”

“In trouble how?” asked Brian.

“His old gang's got him, haven't they.” Adam said. It wasn't a question. Crowley's eyes searched his face, looking for any sign the Antichrist knew more than was logically possible.

The Them frowned, and as one nodded.

“Well, we'll have to get him back,” Pepper said. After all, fair's fair. He'd get us back.”

“No, no, no,” Anathema said. “This is going to be no place for kids. Newt and I will help get him back.”

“But that's not fair,” said Wensleydale, “we helped stop the Apocalypse after all. It's not like we're _kids _anymore. Not properly.”

“This is different,” said Newt, in the tones of adults everywhere who can't find better arguments against children, but are sure they're right.

“Different how?” asked Brian.

“This is going to be dangerous,” Newt said. It was a tried and true contention.

“More dangerous than the apocalypse?” Wensleydale asked.

Newt floundered. He wasn't used to verbally sparing with the young and obnoxiously inquisitive.

“Yes and no,” Crowley said. “The end of the world was dangerous, no doubt, but Heaven is another matter.” He sighed. Nothing was going according to plan. He could feel the nervous energy coiling inside him, he needed to act, but he couldn't think of what to do.

“Okay, wait,” Anathema said. “I think we all need to take a step back. Do we really want to start a war with Heaven? Isn't that what we worked so hard to stop?”

Everyone looked at her blankly.

“The Apocalypse!” she snapped.

Crowley was on his feet so fast his chair fell backwards. “I'm not leaving Aziraphale with thossse bassstardsss!” He hissed. “None of you seem to understand, Heaven isn't what you mortals think it is. It's not kind. It's not nice. They are torturing Aziraphale if they haven't killed him yet.”

“But that's not right,” Brian said. “I mean, I can see it being boring, but the preachers say...”

“Who do you think knows more about Heaven? Me? Former Angel? Or him, some random mortal?”

Silence followed his proclamation.

“Heaven's just supposed to be clouds and harps and stuff,” said Brian.

“No,” Crowley said, reigning in his temper. With a gesture his chair was back. He sat heavily. “Admittedly, Heaven is by and large very dull. No good music, no good food. But the Angels there are bred to be warriors. Trained to be warriors. They aren't nice. And they aren't particularly fond of humans. They won't go easy on you just because you're children.” He shook his head. “And anyway, you kids aren't coming. You know what? None of you are coming. Without an army... if I had enough trained humans on my side, maybe we'd stand a chance, but without that... there's no point. There's no winning. I'll go, I have to try, but there's no sense in all of you dying with me.”

“Doesn't matter,” Adam said. His voice cut through the bickering like a hot knife through butter. All eyes were on him. Even though he'd decided not to be the Antichrist, he still held power. “You guys are part of our gang now. Of course we're helping to get Aziraphale back. And so you don't have an army, so what. Plenty of people get in places without an army. You don't think the whole British Army goes everywhere when countries have a scrape do you? They'd never get anything done with so many people.” He smiled, satisfied. “Smaller is better in this case, stands to reason.”

The Them murmured approval, the matter settled.

“So what do we do?” Newt asked.

“Look,” Anathema said, reaching over to take Crowley's hand. “I'm not saying we leave Aziraphale with them, I'm saying we need to really prepare. I'm sorry to say, but there's no way we can win against all of Heaven with just the eight of us.”  
  
“Yeah,” Newt said, “Unfortunately that's true...”

“So we don't attack from the front,” Wensleydale said with a shrug.

“Yeah,” Brian laughed. “Imagine us attacking from the front. That's death, that is.”

Adam grinned. “We need to be sneaky. Like ninjas. We sneak in, sneak out, leaving none the wiser.”

“Oh, I love playing ninja!” Pepper cheered.

Wensleydale adjusted his glasses and nodded solemnly. “If your troops are in all respects unequal to your enemy, be capable of eluding him.”

Brian rolled his eyes and elbowed Wensleydale, whispering _nerd_. Wensleydale stuck out his tongue.

“That could work,” Crowley conceded, “if humans had him. Aziraphale and I really really _really_ pissed off Heaven. He's not going to be locked in a prison some where or left unattended. He's going to have the Archangels _on him_. Sneaking isn't going to be an option.”

“So we'll take on the Archangels,” Adam said firmly. He hesitated. “How many Archangels are there?”

“Hm... seven I think, last I checked,” Crowley said.

“Seven? Seven's easy,” Adam said cheerfully. “No problem, seven. Much easier than all the armies of Heaven.”

Crowley was stunned into silence, looking at their eager faces. “No,” he finally said. “No, I don't know what I was thinking, this is a suicide mission. It is. Aziraphale would be upset if I just let a bunch of mortals come and die with me.”

“To be fair,” Anathema said, “he'd be upset if you went up there just to die.”

Adam shrugged. “Besides, he's not here, and anyway, I'm the leader of this gang, right?”

“Right!” the Them shouted.

“An' we can't just let a member of our gang die. Especially not the newest members.” Adam nodded his head. “It's settled.”

Anathema smiled, walking around the table to drop a kiss on Crowley's head. “Of course we're coming. We can't just let your husband be tortured.”

Crowley blushed, but didn't correct her.

“Wait, question. How do we fight Angels?” Wensleydale asked.

“Well, there are a fair variety of weapons that can injure Angels, Demons too for that matter. The most effective though would be Hellfire.” He raised a hand, and with a thought it was engulfed in flames.

The Them leaned forward, fascinated.

“Should we be giving Angel killing weapons to kids?” Newt asked cautiously.

“Yes!” The Them shouted as one.

Crowley frowned, tapping the table. With another thought the flames were extinguished.“Aziraphale probably wouldn't like giving weapons to kids...”

“He's not here, is he?” Pepper grumbled.

“Do they really need weapons though?” Anathema asked. “What about just... the illusion of weapons? I mean, the Angels wont know the difference. They won't want to risk it, right? They'll just keep away.”

“But what if they do attack us, and we can't defend ourselves?” Brian asked.

“Yeah,” Wensleydale said. “Safest if we have weapons, all things considered.”

“No fire, at the very least,” Anathema insisted.

Crowley shrugged and waved a hand. Several short swords big enough for each of the kids appeared on the table. Two longer ones for the adults were added beside them. “In for a penny, in for a pound. Besides,” his smile was wicked, “could be fun.”

\-------

Time moved differently in Heaven, so Aziraphale wasn't completely sure how long he'd been alone from the perspective of Earth. Crowley always harped on how boring Heaven was in relation to food and music, but he really should have stressed the waiting. Angels, most especially Archangels, work on their own time, and that was never fast. Thankfully Aziraphale had six thousand years of memories to revisit, and spent his time thinking of Crowley, his beautiful, wonderful demon. It was painfully obvious to him now how much time he'd lost on what beings he didn't even like thought of him. If he got out of this, he wasn't wasting any more time.

He'd made it to the 1600s when Micheal entered the room.

Micheal ignored him completely, not even deigning to glance at him. Instead she walked to the lone table and sat down. A pen materialized in her hand as she pulled some of the papers to her and began to write. Aziraphale watched. There was nothing else to do.

After a time Micheal sighed. She picked up a small folder and flipped it open. “Former Principality, failed Guardian of the Eastern Gate, and now a traitor of Heaven as well. Quite the rebellion. Standing against Hell, that's one thing, but you stood against Heaven as well, and we can't have that.”

Aziraphale said nothing.

She closed the folder with a snap. “We don't know why the Hellfire didn't kill you, or frankly, why you haven't fallen, but we can't have a renegade Angel on the loose. You are here for reeducation. If you fail this, you will be imprisoned for the rest of your existence. Am I clear on the terms?”

Aziraphale tightened his fists, but again said nothing.

Micheal didn't seem to care about his lack of response. She set the folder aside, cleared up the desk, and then walked over to Aziraphale's chair and with a touch set him free.

“You were meant to be a fighter, though you are a pathetic excuse for one. You're far too _soft_. It is not your place to question anything, it is your place to obey. The Almighty is not your concern. She placed her trust in myself, and the other Archangels. When we speak, we speak for her. Disobeying any of us, is disobeying her. This is the most basic concept of your existence, and the one you seem to have forgotten. After careful analysis, the Archangels and I have determined the source of your weakness is the Serpent. He has tempted you away from the path of the Almighty. Our first lesson. Demons are the enemy. They are evil. You, more than any other member of the host of Heaven, have grown lax in recognizing this. You've grown too close.” She gestured and Crowley appeared beside her.

Aziraphale stood, and hesitantly walked closer.

Michael smiled, in what Aziraphale was sure was meant to be encouraging, but which seemed very condescending.

“Your first task is to kill the Demon known as Crowley. You have lost your privileges to call yourself a member of the armies of Heaven, and therefore can no longer wield a flaming sword. As you work to remove the stain from your name, you will begin with the most basic weapon we have. A dagger.” A long, slender, double edged, silver blade appeared in her hand. She gracefully handed it over.

Aziraphale took it disinterestedly. He was far more concerned with his demon. Closer inspection showed this was not, in fact, Crowley. It was a body double of sorts. The Demon was... wrong. So wrong Aziraphale was embarrassed he'd been fooled at first. His features were the same – his hair, his outfit – but he held himself all wrong. It was far too formal. Crowley always looked relaxed, even when standing. Always a bit of a slouch, and a saunter to his step. His face was blank, if a bit more pointed, all leading to eyes that were all wrong as well. They were yellow and serpentine, certainly, but Crowley's eyes were so expressive, truly windows to his soul, betraying his every thought. Micheal's creation's eyes looked like glass, though Aziraphale had seen taxidermied animals with a more convincing glint.

“Well?” Micheal asked. Her arms were crossed as she leaned her hip against the desk.

Aziraphale looked his knife, and at the double of his demon. He knew it wasn't real, he knew it with absolute certainty. But all the same... Maybe Michael was right, maybe he was soft, and a fool, because he was not for one second going to go along with this. He was not going to play this game. He put on his most diplomatic smile, and tossed the dagger at her feet. “I thank you for your time, Michael, I do. I know you've got your hands full filling the Almighty's shoes as it were. But I am going to have to decline.”

Michael's eyes narrowed. “...what?”

“No,” Aziraphale said firmly. “Crowley isn't evil. In fact, he's the best being I know. He'd make a better Angel than any other currently in Heaven, and I include you in that assessment. I will not betray him, or myself for that matter, by pretending otherwise. I will not harm him, not even a copy of him, ever.”

“We'll see about that.” She gestured and the Demon animated. It knelt and picked up the knife, looking at the blade curiously. Then it grinned, wide and evil, and nothing like his dearest.

\-------

The swords looked hefty, and were surprisingly heavier than they looked. Anathema attempted to lift one and quickly gave up. “I see several issues,” she said.

Beside her Newt was not having any better luck. “Why exactly are they so heavy?”

Crowley waved a hand and the swords became weightless.

“Though these aren't actually ninja weapons,” Brian grumbled.

Adam shrugged and selected a sword. “Ninjas use swords.”

“Not _broad_ swords,” Wensleydale corrected. “They use fancy thin ones I think. Like on Ninja Turtles.”

Pepper rolled her eyes. “That's just a cartoon, it's not _real_.”

Adam grinned, and the swords in the Them's hands morphed into the same weapons as the ninja turtles – Pepper now held tonfa, Brian had nunchaku, Wensleydale had a bo, and Adam's broad sword was now a katana. The Them gleefully struck poses and found the best way to hang their weapons.

Anathema dropped her head in her hands. “I can't believe I'm letting you arm children.”

Crowley grinned broadly, showing a bit more fang than usual.

“So how exactly does one break into Heaven?” Newt asked.

“Yeah, won't we get stopped at the pearly gates?” Wensleydale asked. “Especially with a... Demon?”

“Those gates are more, mmm... metaphorical,” Crowley said with a shrug. “And in the case of this metaphor, you'd have to be dead to reach them. We'll be going a different way. Through the back entrance. Aziraphale and I are – were – our respective sides only representatives on Earth, so with luck, with both of us rebelled, no one will be paying those doors any mind.”

“Are we flying??” Pepper asked excitedly.

“Psh. He'd have to make so many trips!” Brian scolded.

“Not necessarily,” Wensleydale said. “This is magic, it doesn't have to follow _rules_.”

“No, no flying.” Crowley smirked, “We'll be taking the stairs.”

It was a bit of work to get everyone in the Bentley. Though Crowley was loath to do it, he eventually preformed a minor miracle to get everyone a seat. _Don't Stop Me Now_ blared loudly as he raced back to London.

\-------

The escalators that led to Above and Below were currently located in a London skyscraper. Red paint on the curb proclaimed it to be a no parking zone, but the color obediently rolled back to make way for the Bentley as he pulled to a stop out front. Crowley jumped out and all but ran in, the humans behind hurrying to keep up. They stopped short inside.

“This is the entrance to Heaven?” Newt asked, looking hesitantly around the wide, empty atrium.

“And Hell,” Crowley shrugged. He was starting to feel a bit uneasy about this whole plan. At first the thought of storming Heaven alone had seemed like the height of stupidity, but here with his group of children, going alone suddenly had its appeal. What was he even expecting the humans to do? They would serve only to slow him down, or get him caught. He turned around to tell him as much, only to find Anathema glaring at him, daring him to voice his opinion _now_, after having dragged them all the way to London. He could probably talk Newt out of it at this point, the young man certainly seemed scared enough, but the Them were practically vibrating with excitement.

He pushed his doubt aside. They were there. This was happening. No use talking himself out of it. “Ok, let's do this,” he said. “I'm going to go up first, scout it out a bit, and then you lot will follow.”

“How will we follow without you here?” Pepper asked skeptically. “Won't we just end up upstairs? Like, really upstairs? In the building?”

“Besides,” Brian said, “If you go scout and get caught, then we'll have to save both of you.”  
  


“We should go up together,” Adam said. He smiled confidently at Crowley. “Safety in numbers, right?”

The demon rolled his eyes behind his glasses, but decided not to fight. Here at the gates, he felt Aziraphale's absence keenly. Together they stepped onto the escalator bathed in light, and waited as they were drawn up.

There were gasps around him as they stepped off in Heaven. The walls and ceilings were a pristine white, and the floor was so shiny it reflected everything. Large windows were evenly spaced along the walls, and the light from outside was so bright nothing else could be seen beyond them. Hallways branched off at even intervals, with tall white doorways firmly shut scattered around them. Everywhere was deserted. No Angels, no voices, no footsteps, just silence.

“Where -” Wensleydale's voice was shockingly loud in the emptiness. He clamped his hands over his mouth. When the sound died, he whispered, “Where is everybody?”

Crowley shrugged. “Hell probably.” Heaven was exactly as he remembered. Big, empty, infinite, and above all, boring.

“How are we supposed to find Aziraphale in all this?” Anathema whispered.

\-------

Aziraphale fell backward, panting. He'd arrived with his normally pristine outfit rumpled and bloodstained, but now it was also torn in several places, and stained with even more blood as a result. Before it might have been salvaged with some work, but now he feared there was no way. Centuries of careful handling, only to be ruined now, by this.

The body double lunged again, Aziraphale narrowly dodged. Not Crowley changed the angle of the blade at the last moment, catching the Angel's arm in one long shallow gash. Aziraphale frowned at the further ruining of his outfit, but he had no time to mourn before dodging the double's next pass. He'd been trained as a warrior once, long ago, and despite what his brothers thought, he hadn't forgotten everything. Fighting for King Arthur had further refined his skills. Now he used everything he knew to work towards defense, though that was certainly never what Heaven had intended for him to learn. Heaven's thinking was always offensive. When you had a near infinite number of soldiers, defense was never seriously taught. Human's were the ones who cared for the longevity of their warriors.

The body double gave no quarter, and gave him no time to rest. All it did was attack, again and again, each time aiming to discorporate. Aziraphale considered himself lucky that despite the large number of nicks and cuts on his body, despite his meticulous outfit reduced to ruin, the double had yet to land a solid hit. Though he couldn't take his eyes off the attacking puppet, he could feel Micheal's displeasure radiating around her, growing stronger every time Aziraphale danced away from the double's attacks. If he was human, at this point his energy was bound to be running out if it hadn't already, but he was an Angel, and he could keep this up all day easily.

The double launched at him, letting loose a flurry of attacks, one after the other. Aziraphale dodged them all successfully. “Enough!” Micheal shouted behind him.

The double stilled, and Aziraphale turned to her. Her face was contorted in fury as she advanced on him. “Do you think this is a joke?” She shouted.

Aziraphale glanced at his blood covered form, the tatters of his jacket and vest, and the fake Demon behind him. “Not at all. Did you expect me to lay down and die?”

“I expect you to obey!” In two long strides Micheal reached him. She grabbed him by his lapel and dragged him forward. A dagger of her own appeared in her hand and sunk deeply into Aziraphale's stomach.

Aziraphale gasped in pain, his hands flying up to the wound. Micheal twisted the blade once and yanked it free. Aziraphale dropped to his knees, and with one swift kick Micheal knocked him down. Blood soaked Aziraphale's fingers, and through his vest. He blinked at the ceiling, feeling cold, and trying to regain control of his frantic breathing.

“Filth!” Micheal growled, prowling in a circle around him. “You think this is funny? You think you're above Heaven's laws? You are nothing!” She blessed under her breath. Her foot dug into Aziraphale's side, and pushed him over onto his stomach. He groaned loudly at the pressure that placed on his injuries and tried to push himself up on his elbows. She kicked him again, knocking him back down. Another gesture, and Aziraphale's wings were forced out. Micheal whistled, and the body double was straddling his waist, hands ghosting over the delicate bones. Micheal crouched by Aziraphale's head, and tangled a hand in his hair, forcing his forehead firmly to the ground. “Such pristine, white feathers,” she said. “You don't deserve them.”

With a loud crack the body double broke the first bone.

For the first time, Aziraphale screamed.

\--------

Crowley was growing frustrated. At least in Hell there was variety and identifiable landmarks. Heaven was the same bland hallway going on forever. For all he knew they were going in circles. He stopped with a hiss, head falling into his hands. This was never going to work. The Them circled around him. “It's going to be ok,” Pepper said, quietly taking hold of his sleeve. “We'll find him.”

“Wait!” Newt snapped.

“What is it?” Anathema whispered.

“Don't you hear it?”

The group silenced and listened. Voices were coming from ahead.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Crowley growled. “Quick! A door!”

“Which one?” Newt asked.

“Any!”

Anathema darted forward and pulled a door at random. She glanced quickly inside and then motioned everyone through. Inside was a large empty room, the lights from outside the window still blindingly bright.

“Hush,” Anathema whispered. Her hand was on the door, holding it closed, ear pressed close. As they stood perfectly still the footsteps grew louder and louder, accompanied by the murmur of voices.

With a gesture, their weapons were engulfed in a bright hot flame. Crowley surveyed his team as the footsteps drew nearer.

Brian's eyes were wide, breathing unsteady.

Closer.

Wensleydale was flushed bright red, eyes terrified behind his glasses.

Closer.

Pepper was holding herself firm, carefully controlling her anxiety.

The voices were loud now, though still unintelligible.

Adam was quietly determined.

The footsteps were loud, whoever was just outside the door.

Newt looked terrified, weapon trembling in his hand.

There was a pause. A laugh.

Anathema's eyes were closed, completely focused on the sound.

The footsteps moved on. Breathing became easier the further they went, until eventually the sound was lost. For just a moment Anathema pressed to the cool surface. She shot a glance at everyone and rolled her eyes. “Could you extinguish those, please? You're making me nervous.”

Crowley smirked, but did as he was bid, extinguishing the flames with a thought. “Shall we continue?”

They stepped out carefully into the hallway, looking down both ways just in case someone was still visible. Satisfied they were alone, Newt sagged against the wall and slid to the floor. “This is insane,” he moaned. “How are we ever supposed to find Aziraphale here?”

Anathema knelt, taking his hand in hers. “We can't give up now.” With a tug she brought him back to his feet.

“Wait!” Crowley jumped forward, arm outstretched. “Did you hear that?”

“Oh, God,” Newt groaned. “Is someone else coming?”

“Sssh!” Crowley hissed.

Anathema and Newt exchanged a glance.

“Fuck!” The demon shouted. He took off running.

“Um, what?” Newt stammered.

“Run!” Adam said with a cheerful smile.

\-------

Aziraphale breathed out hard, his lungs struggling. He didn't strictly speaking need to breathe, but the sharp pain in his chest and his wings was distracting him.

“Again,” Micheal said from somewhere above him.

Not Crowley's hands shifted, fingers running through his downy soft feathers. Aziraphale shivered at the touch. The double's hands settled firmly over bone and slowly tightened. Aziraphale's fingers tightened too, nails digging into his palm. The scream started low in his throat, growing louder as the double's hands twisted, feathers ripped, skin tore. With a loud crack the next bone broke, leaving both his wings lying useless on the floor.

“Again,” Micheal said.

The double was easily able to manipulate Aziraphale's broken wing, twisting it at an impossible angle to reach another section. A high pitched whine forced itself free, and Aziraphale's hands scrambled on the smooth floor.

“Oh?” Micheal asked. Her shoes clicked loudly as she walked around to Aziraphale's front. She tucked her foot beneath the Aziraphale's chin and raised his head to meet her eyes. “Are you ready to submit?”

Aziraphale's smile stretched painfully wide. “No, afraid not.”

She waved to her puppet. Though he expected it, Aziraphale still screamed as the bone snapped.

Micheal returned to the desk. “We can do this for as long as it takes, Aziraphale.” She pulled over another stack of paperwork, a pen once again materializing in her hand. “I would recommend submitting before your wings are beyond repair. Without your wings you'd be even more worthless than you are currently, which is saying something.” She waved a hand. “Continue.”

“You are _pathetic_,” the double hissed. His claw like fingers dug into the downy soft feathers at the base of Aziraphale's wings and gripped tight. The Angel tensed, his body naturally trying to pull away. “_Worthless_.” With a rip and a cry from Aziraphale a fist full of feathers came free. “_Soft_.” Not Crowley grabbed at Aziraphale's hair next, knocking him back down, forehead cracking against the tile. “_You deserve this._”

\-----

Crowley raced down the hallway. He'd heard something, he was sure of it, the sound of someone screaming. He skidded to a halt as the hallway branched, bouncing on his toes, eyes darting down each hallway looking for any hint as to where to go next. With a loud drumming of feet and panting breath, the humans caught up. Crowley hardly noticed.

Newt stumbled, hands braced on his knees, gasping. “Oh...my... God... what...?”

Crowley hissed. “It was around here somewhere...”

“What was?” Anathema panted.

A scream cut high and clear through the silence. As one they took off running.

Crowley's eyes darted toward each door as they raced down the corridor, heart thundering in his ears.

“Maybe... this is why... no one's around.” Newt panted.

“What do you mean?” Brian asked. Newt was a little envious the child didn't sound anywhere near as exhausted as he did.

“Would you want to hang around while your brother was screaming?” Pepper asked.

“I wouldn't let anyone make my brother scream,” Adam said darkly.

Another scream just ahead. Crowley caught the edge of the frame, grabbed the door knob and threw it open.

Aziraphale was on the ground, a puppet who looked just like him kneeling on his back, hands and arms covered in his angel's blood.

With a roar of rage Crowley was across the room. A thought and his hands became hardened claws. They tore through his double like tissue paper.

He expected to be covered in blood or standing over a sticky mess, but his puppet was just that. It faded to nothing as he stood panting over the pieces.

“Dearest...” Aziraphale whispered, pushing himself up.

“Angel!” Crowley had Aziraphale cradled in his arms in moments. “What did those bastards...”

Micheal put her pen down with a click. “Demon? You dare enter Heaven?”

“_You did this_,” Crowley snarled.

Micheal smiled. “Of course. For his own good.”

Adam led the pack of humans to Crowley's side. The skidded to a halt beside him, weapons drawn.

“You call _this_ for his own good? You're supposed to be an Angel! You're supposed to be the good guys!” Adam shouted.

Micheal looked at the Antichrist carefully, as though he were a bomb that might soon go off. “And so we are. He is lost in the woods, but I can help him find his way. All he has to do is kill his Demons. In this case, him.”

“You're sick. How can you even call yourself an Angel?” Pepper demanded. She and the Them drew their weapons and stood in a loose circle between Micheal and their gang.

Anathema knelt beside Crowley and pulled Aziraphale into her arms. “I'll take him.”

Crowley unconsciously bared his teeth at her. Anathema ignored him, instead shrugging out of her jacket and pressing it to the still bleeding wound in the angel's stomach. Aziraphale smiled gratefully at her, then placed a hand on Crowley's wrist, thumb caressing his hand. "I'll be fine."

Crowley felt the tight ball of anxiety in his chest loosen. "Yeah?"

"I promise."

"But angel... Your wings..."

Aziraphale winced, focused, and folded them back in. "They'll keep for now. We've more pressing issues, I'm afraid. Please, love, be careful."

Crowley nodded and gestured to his army. “Protect him at all costs, yeah?”

Micheal cleared her throat. “Well. That was sickening. This disgusting infatuation goes deeper than I thought.” She stood up and adjusted her sleeves with a disappointed sigh. “I just can't see another way around this. I'm going to have to kill you both.”

Crowley stood, cracking his neck. He shook out his hands. They turned black, fingers elongating into hardened, razor sharp claws. Another gesture and they were engulfed in flame. His smile was wide, wicked, and with a bit too much fang. “Just you try it.”

Micheal's lips twitched. “You stopped the apocalypse, and now you want to mount a war on Heaven?”

“Oh, this isn't war, this is _personal_!” Crowley lunged forward. Micheal grinned and a flaming sword appeared in her hands.

Angel's are bred to be warriors, and Michael was the best. She was the leader of the armies of Heaven for good reason. Having had been an Angel once, Crowley knew how Angel's were trained to use swords. When he was very young he'd even been trained by Michael once – or at the very least, had been part of a specific unit under her brief direction. What he remembered of the dreadfully dull drilling left very little to be impressed by. Heaven was very predictable when it came to combat. They really should have recruited some of his friends from the 5th century. They could have livened up Heaven's training regimen, but then, Heaven – and Hell for that matter – could learn a lot from the humans they ignored. Crowley's time in the middle ages had provided him with a great learning experience, and plenty of practice. He was quite good. Probably going for a sword would have given him a potential edge, but right now his anger was overriding everything. He didn't want a sword. He was going to rip Michael apart with his bare hands.

His hardened hands easily deflected every slash of the Archangel's sword. With his lithe body and fast reflexes, he easily broke through Michael's defense and left a long deep gash along her face. Her eyes widened in brief surprise, her mouth narrowed, and she got serious. Crowley grinned. He liked serious.

The Them edged closer to Aziraphale. “Should we...try to help?” Brian asked, uncertainly. He held his nunchaku in what he thought was a defensive position, but it was beginning to dawn on him that he had no idea how to actually use them.

“No,” Aziraphale sat up with a groan. More blood spilled onto his hands. He smiled wiry at the worried faces around him. “We'd just be in his way.”

Crowley smiled, deflecting another slice of Michael's sword, and leaving a rather pleasant gash up the side of her arm. “I can hear you, angel,” he called.

Aziraphale's face brightened. “You're doing wonderfully!”

Crowley laughed.

Michael glared, stepping back. “I don't think you're taking this seriously.”

He shrugged. “You're not the most interesting Angel I've ever met. Now, where were we?”

Michael glared and turned her attention to Aziraphale. Crowley stepped between them. “Ah, ah, ah,” he said. “You're playing with _me_ right now.”

“Tch, impudent Demon,” Michael growled.

“Well, that's terrifying,” Newt said.

“Hm,” Aziraphale smiled adoringly at the demon before turning his attention to the human's around him. “We do have a problem though.”

“Oh, you don't say?” Newt said sarcastically. “And here I thought everything was going perfectly.”

“Aside from the obvious,” Aziraphale amended. He moved to stand, and groaned, almost falling. He clutched his stomach, forcing himself up. “This is _quite_ annoying,” he huffed.

The Them looked to Adam, but his face was carefully blank.

“Will you stop moving?” Anathema snapped. “It's hard enough keeping pressure with you fidgeting. You're going to bleed out at this rate!”

Aziraphale waved her off. “I'll be fine for a little while, she didn't hit anything vital.”

“Stomach wounds are serious you fool,” she growled.

“The point is, Crowley isn't going to kill her.” Aziraphale finished.

“Well... of course he isn't,” Newt said slowly. “She's... Michael. Everyone knows Michael. You can't _kill_ Michael.”

“And he's Crowley,” Aziraphale said patiently. “He'd never kill anyone.”

“So how do we leave if she's alive,” Adam pondered. “She's not going to just let us go.”

“We'll have to trap her,” Aziraphale said.

“How do you even trap an Archangel?” Newt asked. “Do we lay out some rope or something?”

“She's an Archangel, not a rabbit,” Anathema scolded.

“I don't know!” Newt yelled a tad hysterically. “We're in Heaven, watching a Demon fight an Archangel! This is insane!”

“Yes,” Aziraphale laughed lightly, “Sorry about that. Adam, could you create some oil, please? A bottle for each of you kids should suffice. Make it as pure as possible if you can.”

“Like.. olive oil?” Adam asked. Four bottles appeared in his hands.

“Perfect, give that here.”

“Hey!” Anathema protested as Aziraphale moved away from her.

He handed her back her ruined coat with an apologetic smile, and took the bottles of oil from Adam, arranging them in front of himself in a small semi circle. He carefully knelt, bowed his head, and clasped his hands in prayer. Light emanated from his very skin, his hair creating a halo around him. “Oh Lord, Almighty God, I pray you anoint this oil in your Heavenly name. I pray You cleanse it of any defilement within or upon it, and that You make it Holy for the work of Your glory. May this be done in the name of the mother, the son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.” He opened his eyes and the light faded. “That should do it.” He passed the bottles back to the Them. “Now you need to run, fast as you can. Leave a trail of oil around them. The pattern doesn't need to be exact, but it does need to be closed. Think you can manage it?”

The Them's smile would have terrified any adult in Tadfield.

“Uh... doesn't that seem a bit... dangerous?” New asked.

“Oh, absolutely,” Aziraphale said. “But they can handle it.”

With a wicked smile the Them took off, happily spilling oil around them from bottles that seemed to never empty.

“Now, if you don't mind...” Aziraphale managed to get to his feet. His once pristine outfit was drenched in read, hanging in ribbons around him, blood still poured unchecked from the gaping wound Michael had left in his stomach. He coughed and blood stained his lips. He seemed not to notice, his face was quietly determined. “I'm going to need to borrow that sword.”

Crowley possessed excellent hearing. Much of his early work had required a bit of spying, and hearing across a crowded room was a great benefit. Unfortunately Michael clearly could as well. As the kids took off running, Michael's eyes tracked them, and on Crowley's next block of her sword she changed her stance, caught him under the ribs with her spare hand, and flung him across the room. Crowley cursed. It didn't do him any damage, but it got him out of the way, however briefly. Michael was fast, she didn't need much time. After all, despite their pitiful attempts at weaponry, the children were practically defenseless.

The closest was Wensleydale. The young boy's eyes widened as she loomed near, his face turned white. She raised her sword to cut him down, but was stopped with a clang of steel.

“They're children,” Aziraphale scolded.

“Why should I care for humans? They're standing against Heaven,” Michael growled back.

“Nah,” Crowley stopped a few feet behind her. He nodded to Aziraphale and they began to circle her. One always in front, the other behind, both making sure to keep the Them protectively blocked from her gaze. “We are. They're just... Observing.”

A muscle twitched in Michael's jaw. “Observing? How dare -”

Crowley attacked before Michael could finish. Aziraphale intercepting before Michael could strike back. Being together on Earth for over 6000 years gave Crowley and Aziraphale an intuitive instinct when it came to each others movements. Michael was fierce, but she was no match for the two of them working in tandem. Crowley passed particularly close to Aziraphale just because he could, their backs brushing, hands touching, before they were back in the fight. Crowley had always known they'd do anything beautifully if they were in it together. This was just one dance of many in their long lives. He could also tell the moment the dance changed, when Aziraphale began to falter. To be honest he was surprised his angel had managed what he had with his injuries. He was unspeakably proud of Aziraphale, but it was time for their dance to end. He checked the corner of his eye and saw Adam giving him a thumbs up. He caught Aziraphale's eye and nodded.

“Hey, Michael!” Crowley shouted. The Archangel's attention turned to him, and his angel quickly jumped beyond the oil. His legs finally gave out when he landed. Newt and Anathema rushed to help him back up. Crowley smiled at the Archangel, large and bright. He slid his glasses down and gave Michael a long, slow wink. “Been nice seeing you.” With a snap the oil was ignited, and Crowley stepped beyond it.

Michael's rage was stunning to behold. Her body turned gold, multiple sets of wings unfolding, shinning so brightly for a moment she couldn't be seen. As suddenly as the vision appeared it was gone, and once more her human form was back, pressed as close to the fire as she dared. “This will _not_ hold me forever. This is not over.”

Hand pressed to his wound, panting ever so slightly, Aziraphale stepped right up to the fire. “It is over.”

Crowley joined him, a hand coming to grip his angel just below his elbow in an offer of support. Aziraphale unconsciously leaned into him. “See, we're not on the side of Angels or Demons any more. We're on our side,” Crowley gestured to the humans standing just behind them, “on their side. Fuck with us again at your peril, because we will fight, and we _will_ win.” Crowley turned back to Aziraphale, as though Michael no longer existed. “Let's get out of here, yeah?”

Aziraphale smiled like the sun. “Anything for you.”

Crowley gave his arm a gentle tug, and the angel came easily. Anathema quickly took station on his other side, tugging Aziraphale's arm over her shoulder. A spasm of pain crossed the angel's face, but not a sound escaped. As soon as they were out of Michael's room they moved faster, faster, until they were running down the hall. Aziraphale was flushed and winded, growing dizzy, and hardly able to keep his feet. Crowley easily took more of his weight, until he was all but carrying the angel during their dash. Anathema let him go and took Newt's hand as he started to fall behind. The Them quickly over came the adults, and led the group down the endless hallway.

“How much further?” Newt panted. “I really don't think we should still be here when Michael gets loose.”

Aziraphale tried to focus. “Escalators?”

“Seemed like the safest bet,” Crowley said.

“At the next branch... take the left side. Shouldn't be much further.” His head dropped back to Crowley's shoulder.

“Idiot,” Crowley hissed. “Why'd you let them hurt you like this?”

“I couldn't...”

“Couldn't what? Kill a puppet? You knew it wasn't real, so why'd you let this happen?”

The hallway branched, and the group hurtled down the left side. There were sounds growing behind them, though Crowley was fairly certain knowledge of what had happened hadn't spread yet, or they'd already be caught.

“I couldn't hurt you.”

“It wasn't me though, angel.”

“It was the principle of the thing, dearest.”

“Angel, please don't take this the wrong way, but fuck your principles. You're not allowed to discorporate, especially for something as stupid as that.”

“It's not stupid.”

“Yes it bloody well is. You should've just played along! You could have _died_, angel!”

“Well, what about you?” Aziraphale asked. “Coming after me like this? This was so dangerous, Crowley. If Michael hadn't underestimated you, if she'd fought with her full power...”

“Like I could just leave you!”

“Exactly.”

“Oh no, you don't get to compare this. I was being brave, you were being an idiot.”

“Look!” Pepper shouted. “The escalators!”

They barreled onto the downward moving stairs, out into the vestibule, and finally, gratefully, out into the cold air of the early London evening. They spent one long moment, just breathing in the air, and then hurried to the Bentley. Anathema and Newt climbed into the front, and the Them piled into the back. Aziraphale cringed. “I don't think I should get into your car in this state.”

“Shut up, angel.”

“The trunk then? That should be easier to clean.”

“Shut up, angel!”

“Well, I'm certainly not hanging onto the roof.”

With a barely contained growl Crowley dragged Aziraphale to the drivers side and pushed him in, following quickly after. He grabbed the angel's wrist before he moved too far and tugged him against his side, holding him firmly in place. Aziraphale smiled fondly at the demon and made no move to escape. Crowley took off, slipping easily into traffic.

Aziraphale felt warm, and safe. The other passengers would strongly disagree. Anathema and Newt clutched at the arm rests, the roof, and each other as Crowley defied every law of physics in his quest to move faster. The Bentley fit into spots far to small for it and covered distances in a flash as Crowley used miracle after miracle to get to the bookshop. The Them on the other hand were having a grand time, and laughed uproariously. Aziraphale allowed himself to be coaxed to sleep, slumping further onto Crowley's shoulder.

“A-aziraphale?”

“Watch the road!” Newt screeched.

“Angel!”

“Do you even know how to drive?!” Anathema shouted.

In the back the Them bent around Adam. “Can't you heal him?” Wensleydale asked.

Adam glanced at Aziraphale's lightly bobbing form. “No.”

“No?” The Them waited patiently.

Adam looked at Crowley, a slightly knowing smile on his face. “He isn't going to die, don't worry. But I'm not the one who needs to heal him.”

The Them's look of confusion slowly morphed into understanding.

Far sooner than was possible the Bentley pulled up outside Aziraphale's bookshop, half up on the curb. Newt fell out of the door, scrambling for the pavement. “Oh, thank God.”

Anathema stepped primly over him, hiding her own relief to be out of the vehicle. She quickly opened the back and ushered the children out. Crowley was already at the bookshop door. A quick snap of the fingers and the door flew open. Aziraphale stirred as they entered. He took one look inside his shop and shuddered hiding his face against Crowley with a groan. “My poor books.”

Crowley laughed. “After all this, that's your concern? Why am I not surprised?”

With a gesture the books were shoved inelegantly back onto any available shelf or surface. It wasn't organized in any way, but he knew his angel would want to sort them himself. His books safe from being trod underfoot, Aziraphale relaxed further into his demon. Crowley kissed Aziraphale's nose, and froze at the gesture, a blush staining his cheeks. The angel didn't seem to notice. Crowley couldn't decide if he was upset or not. He continued through the shop and settled Aziraphale on the old sofa in the back, mending the tears in the fabric with hardly a thought.

“Very cozy,” Anathema said carefully as she stepped into the shop.

“Adam?” Crowley asked, gesturing him forward. “Can you do us a quick miracle?”

Adam stepped through and looked at Aziraphale. Blood still leaked slowly from the many wounds across his face, arms, chest and thighs – not to mention the large wound dominating his stomach, and he sat uncomfortably, as though something unseen behind him was causing him a great amount of discomfort. In all the excitement, Adam had forgotten Aziraphale's wings. The angel smiled at him patiently. No expectation, or demand. It made Adam feel a little guilty, but he knew it was the right thing to do. He looked at Crowley sadly. “I can't.”

Crowley froze. “What do you mean, can't?”

Adam shrugged. “I can't. I don't know why, but... it's not working.”

“Then... what...” Crowley started to pace, fingers tugging at his hair.

“Dearest, calm down,” Aziraphale tried to soothe.

“Heal yourself, angel!”

“Can't seem to manage it at the moment,” Aziraphale said apologetically. “Not enough energy I'm afraid, but if we give it a day or maybe two...”

“That's too long!” Crowley shouted.

“Well... you could always heal him,” Pepper said innocently.

“Yeah,” Brian joined, “that'd work, right?”

“No,” Crowley growled. “I'm a Demon, we can't do those kinds of miracles.”

“Why not?” Wensleydale asked.

“Have you ever tried?” Brian said.

Crowley sputtered for a moment. “Wha – Because I'm evil! Evil things don't do heals! Angels heal. I... inconvenience.”

“But _you_ used to be an Angel, right?” Adam asked.

“We were just in Heaven. You saw what Angels do. Are you really saying you want us to be like them?”

“I'm just saying you should try it.”

“I just told you I _can't_.”

“You said evil things can't. Well, you're not very evil, are you? Like you said, all you do is inconvenience, which is _hardly_ evil. We inconvenience people all the time. And anyway, what does it matter if you're an Angel or a Demon? You're not part of their gang any more, you're part of mine, and I say you _can_.” Adam said stubbornly.

“I don't think it works that way.” Crowley huffed. But then... was there another option? He glanced at the human's gathered round him, watching him expectantly. Crowley hissed softly. He'd do it... he had to do it for his angel, but like Heaven was he going to do it with an audience. With a gesture a new addition opened beyond the back room of the bookshop. He wasn't completely sure how it fit in with the actual architecture of the neighborhood, but for now it existed, and that was all he really needed. “There,” he said. “Beds, pizza, TV, movies, wine, what have you. You kids have fun. I'll take Aziraphale upstairs.”

Anathema smiled knowingly, and quickly herded everyone into the new room.

Once they were gone, Crowley let his nerves show. “Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh fuck...”

“Dearest...” With effort Aziraphale pushed himself up, sighing a breath of relief as his back left the firm pressure of the couch. He reached out a hand and grabbed Crowley's pacing form. “You don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with. I'm fine, I promise. I'll live.”

In moments Crowley was on the couch, straddling Aziraphale, pushing him back hard against the couch, enraged. Aziraphale grunted in pain, and Crowley immediately changed his grip and lessened the pressure. “Oh, fuck, angel.” His head dropped onto Aziraphale's shoulder. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't've...”

“It's ok, Crowley, really.”

“It's not ok, angel!” Out of the corner of his eye Crowley saw movement by the new door. Anathema and Newt were peering out. They immediately ducked back in at his glare. He sighed. “Let's go upstairs, yeah?”

A gesture and Aziraphale fell back into the unfamiliar softness of his bed. With barely a thought Crowley had put the room to rights, mending the tears in the pillows and mattress, and putting the bed back in it's normal spot rather than tossed against a wall as it had been left. Aziraphale barely noticed. The bookstore had come with an apartment, and the apartment had been fully furnished. Aziraphale had spent a total of three days in the apartment over the last several decades. He felt no real need to be in them when the bookshop held all of his interest. He'd forgotten how soft it was.

Crowley landed on top of him, legs bracketed on either side of his hips, hands pressed into his shoulders. A deep blush stained his cheeks. The sight of Aziraphale below him froze the demon in place. He quickly shook the thought out of his head. He froze at Aziraphale's touch. The angel slowly reaching up and removing his glasses. Crowley blinked in surprise, but the angel didn't do anything else. Just set the glasses aside, and went back to lying patiently beneath the demon. Doing his best to keep his hands from shaking, Crowley started on Aziraphale's outfit, carefully unbuttoning and discarding the clothing. If they were fully cleaned and mended by the time they hit the floor, that wasn't anything Aziraphale needed to know right now. Once Aziraphale was naked, Crowley stuttered to a halt, blushing all the way to the tips of his ears. After memorizing the sight, Crowley closed his eyes and took several deep breaths.

“Ok, I can do this... I can do this... I...” Crowley opened his eyes and did his best to ignore the lovely sight of his angel, and focus on the many cuts and bruises. The stomach wound was by far the worst, but he wasn't quite confident enough to tackle that one just yet. “I'll... start simple.” He leaned over Aziraphale until he was lined up with Aziraphale's shoulder.

Despite what Adam had said, Crowley didn't remember much of when he was an Angel, let alone any of Heaven. His only examples were of Aziraphale. Now, how did his angel do it... What had he done when Anathema had hit him?

“Oh, Lord, heal this wound.”

Nothing happened.

Crowley hissed in annoyance. What had Aziraphale done... he'd touched the girl and the bike, hadn't he? He placed his fingers delicately on the cut. “Oh, Lord... _please_ heal this wound.”

Aziraphale gasped, jolted ever so slightly under him. Crowley jerked his hand back and laughed in surprise. It was healed! He eagerly ran his hands over every injury up and down his angel's body, murmuring, “Heal, heal, heal,” over each, relishing in every gasp and moan from the angel beneath him. At last the only injury was the large one in Aziraphale's stomach. Crowley placed his hand over it, closed his eyes and _prayed_ just as fervently as he could. After a moment Aziraphale relaxed with a sigh of pleasure.

Crowley looked up into Aziraphale's adoring face. “Thank you, my love.”

Crowley blushed. “Now turn over.”

“Huh?”

“Turn over, angel.”

“But...”

“I need to do your wings now.”

“Oh, well, haha, that's hardly necessary. They're not even bothering me all that much to tell the truth.”

“Liar.” Crowley paused, realization dawning. He couldn't stop the hurt look that crossed his face. “Look, I get it if you're not comfortable with _me_ touching your wings –”

“Oh, love, it's not that –”

“– but if we leave them and they heal incorrectly we'll have to just break them and reset them, and _I can't do that._”

Aziraphale looked calmly at Crowley's wild eyes, his face unreadable. Then he neatly turned over, presenting his back. He shuddered as his wings folded into existence, but as soon as they were free, they thumped loudly to the floor, unable to support themselves. Though it all Aziraphale didn't make a sound. He buried his face in the pillows, knuckles white from how tightly they gripped the sheets. His body was trembling lightly, a sheen of sweat on his back.

“Oh, angel,” Crowley breathed. “I'm so sorry.”

Aziraphale's head turned just enough to peak at the demon. His face was pinched in pain, but he smiled nonetheless. “You silly serpent. You've nothing to apologize for. You've done nothing but be kind to me. I'm the one who's sorry. I'm sorry I put you in this position. I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough. I'm sorry I needed to be saved. I'm sorry I'm... soft.”

“Sssshut up,” Crowley hissed.

“Wha –”

“You don't get to talk about my angel like that!” Crowley hesitated. He'd been keeping his feelings in for so long now it was hard to continue. What if he read everything wrong? What if Aziraphale really didn't realize what was happening? But then... Aziraphale was naked beneath him, wings extended brokenly in the ultimate display of trust. If not now, then when? “Angel... how can someone so smart be so stupid? There is no where I wouldn't go for you, nothing I wouldn't do for you. You don't need to ask me to, or even thank me for it. That's just the way it is. I will always come for you, and I will always save you. Haven't I proved that over the centuries? To me... you're perfect. And I.... I love you. And I like you soft, so Heaven can go collectively fuck themselves if they've got a problem.”

Aziraphale's breath caught at the admission, his cheeks stained crimson. “Crowley...”

“You don't have to say anything, angel. I know this is a bit fast for you. You can tell me anything you want later.”

Aziraphale nodded. Crowley had hoped he'd turn back to the bed, but the angel kept his gaze, his expression calm and patient. The attention was making Crowley a bit nervous. He tried to ignore the watchful eyes, and instead closed his hands around the base of Aziraphale's wing. He could feel the slight jerk when his fingers closed, and the trembling held just beneath the surface. Wings were perhaps the most sensitive part of an angel's ethereal body. The were never touched without permission and high levels of trust. Even with a miracle, there was no way adjusting them wasn't going to be painful.

“It's going to be alright, dearest.”

Crowley's head snapped up. Despite the clear pain, Aziraphale's face shined with fondness.

“No, it's not, it's going to fucking hurt. A lot.”

“Oh, Crowley. You'd never hurt me.”

“And I don't want to start, but –”

“– you won't –”

“– I will –”

“No, healing and hurting are two very different things. There will be pain, I'm sure, but you're not doing it from a place of cruelty. So are you hurting me? No, you're helping me. You're being incredibly kind. It's presumptuous of me to ask this of you.”

“Presum – Are you serious – no. No. Just shut up. Turn around.”

Aziraphale obediently looked away.

Crowley breathed out, adjusting his grip on the angel's wings. Ok... ok... how did this go... “No broken bones,” he whispered, a constant refrain. There was a sickening crack beneath his hands as the wing readjusted. Aziraphale tensed, biting back a cry. “Angel...” Crowley's voice was thick, fighting back his own tears.

“Keep going,” Aziraphale ground out. “I can take this.”

Crowley's hands kept moving against his better judgment. “You shouldn't have to, I should have been there, I should have protected you!”

“But dearest, you did protect me,” he gasped as the last bone slid back in place. In one smooth move Aziraphale turned and sat up. Crowley fell back in surprise. “You walked into the face of death for me. You have no idea how how much I... love you.”

Crowley's eyes widened at the admission. Aziraphale smiled and tugged at his demon's shoulders. Crowley came easily. When he was close enough, Aziraphale framed his face with his hands. “May I kiss you?” He whispered hesitantly.

Crowley lunged forward and kissed him desperately, like a man drowning. When they broke, a sob racked his chest, and he burrowed his face into Aziraphale's neck, clutching him tightly. “I thought I lost you again.”

Aziraphale kissed his hair, his ear, his shoulder, anything he could reach, murmuring, “I'm here, I'm here, I'm here.”

They remained tightly locked together, neither willing to let the other go far. Eventually they ended up pressed flat to the bed, with Crowley sprawled on top, every inch of him touching his angel. He was half tempted to return to his serpent form, just to hold him tighter, but he couldn't bring himself to pull away just yet, especially with Aziraphale's hands running down his sides and through his hair. Warm and content, Crowley fell into an exhausted sleep. Aziraphale was surprised when he followed.

Aziraphale woke before Crowley, which wasn't too surprisingly considering the angel didn't normally sleep. Crowley was still wrapped tightly around him, his body defying bone structure. The angel couldn't bear to wake him, so he stretched a little, getting more comfortable, and watched Crowley's face, so open and unguarded in his sleep. Hours passed like they were nothing, until eventually he heard noises drift up from the shop. With a start Aziraphale remembered they had guests downstairs. ”We can just miracle them home,” Crowley grumbled softly, burrowing deeper into Aziraphale's warmth.

“That's hardly polite, especially after all their help,” Aziraphale said, though in the tones of one who is considering it.

Crowley laughed and pushed himself up enough to look Aziraphale in the eye, though he was careful to make sure his whole body remained draped over his angel. “You're better than all of the you know.”

“Huh?”

“All those pompous, self righteous pricks upstairs who dare to call themselves holy.”

“Oh, I don't know about that,” Aziraphale looked away. “I'm a bit rubbish at being an Angel, though I imagine I'd make an even worse Demon.”

Crowley gently tugged at Aziraphale's chin, not forcing, but gently encouraging his angel to look at him. “You're perfect, in every way, and I love you dearly. Please... stay with me. I couldn't bear this existence without you.”

Aziraphale felt a tear drop down his cheek. Crowley kissed it away, then his nose, then his forehead.

“I love you too,” Aziraphale whispered. “I always have.”

Crowley grinned and placed kisses everywhere he could reach, everywhere he'd always dreamed of kissing, happy knowing now he was allowed.

Each kiss caused the smile on Aziraphale's face to grow, the happiness in his heart growing until he felt he could cry, until he felt he could bear it no more. He laughed wetly and pulled Crowley close, breathing him in. “Thank you for saving me, my beloved.”

“Anything for you, angel. Anything.”

A slightly louder crash from downstairs jerked them out of the privacy of the moment. There was the sound of kids laughing, and the slightly scolding tones of an adult trying to keep the peace.

“I suppose we should go down there, eh?” Crowley said, making no attempt to move.

“You know...” Aziraphale began, “if our roles were reversed... if Hell came for you... I'd do everything in my power to get you back. But I was just thinking.. you're right, being separated well, it's just awful. And we're together so much anyway and... I'm sure I can make room for your plants, Heaven knows they'd really brighten up the place and –”

“Marry me,” Crowley interrupted.

Aziraphale's smile was blinding.


End file.
